[He half expects this sort of answer - but it does partially surprise him. That vitriol in his eyes, that brief little look of it hiding, waiting to be sprung like a trap. No, Silco is a parasite. He has wormed in, fed on his blood, and now resists the very notion of being let go.]

[His scars are played with, picked at, touched like so. This man wants to know him inside and out. That's what understanding is....is it? Is it really? This has gone into territory Vergilius has no name for.]

See, that's all understandable. But...hrm. What an interesting word. Connection....Do you think I need connection? Are you scared for it? [And now, his index and thumb caressing and encircling the other's neck, like a brief little reminder of that tryst on the floor. His own eyes are as glacial as anything, like icebergs warning for the deeper bottom waiting to be crashed against.] Do you want me to belong to you, hm?